


Not Like This

by MiraculousMinion



Series: Not Like This [1]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alya and Nino are concerned™, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Marinette Dupain-Cheng Is a Mess, Mentions of Blood, Panic Attacks, Temporary Character Death, Trauma, he comes back tho, they're 18 in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-21 16:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14918463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraculousMinion/pseuds/MiraculousMinion
Summary: It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It was supposed to be final, easy, a mystery man in a mask sent to jail. Cheers and news broadcasts and celebrations. A collective release of breath throughout the entire city. The tension, the pain was supposed to be gone. It wasn’t supposed to be this. Gabriel Agreste in the back of a police car. A weight in her chest.The fight is over, and now they must deal with the aftermath.





	1. Chapter 1

Police lights flashed, a beacon of blue in the dark night. The piercing sirens had stopped some time ago, when the cars first arrived. As odd as it sounded, Ladybug wanted them back. Policemen moved around her, bustling to gather information, to keep civilians away. It seemed half the city was awake, come to see the fallout, the end.

Come to see if their heroes had won.

The shouting police, the calling citizens, none of it was loud enough. None of it could overpower the ringing in her ears. The clash of metal on metal.

A yell of pain.

_Stop._

_Breathe._

Clouds rolled in the sky above, covering the moon and painting everything in a dim light. The heavy smell of rain hung in the air. A storm was coming. A storm had already passed.

How fitting, she thought, that the end should happen on a night like this. How fitting that the sky should cry too.

Red spilling on dull gray.

_Focus._

Chat Noir’s eyes drilled into her back. He stayed back, let her handle the cleanup. Watching from a roof, visible only by his luminescent green eyes. She could still see the look on his face, the shock, the paling of his skin. He’d been subdued when it was over, not that she could blame him. She left to talk to the police, left him to get his bearings. Hidden in the dark, waiting. She’d much rather have been up there with him. The last thing on her mind was talking to Lieutenant Roger. She was still in shock herself. But it needed to be done. Get it over with now and she won’t have to deal with it later.

_Stop._

A flash of purple.

_Breathe._

White hair. A sharp inhale.

_Focus._

Roger came over to her. He looked tired, excited, triumphant even. Ladybug couldn’t share in his joy. A large navy blue coat sat around his shoulders. As he approached, Roger took off his hat, held it near his heart. Ladybug focused on the dark of his coat instead of his too bright hair. Hair that looked much too red in the light.

A shock of red and white in the corner of her eye.

_Don’t look._

“This city is grateful for everything you and Chat Noir have done Ladybug.” A salute. “I speak for everyone when I say thank you.”

She forced a smile. Her hands shook behind her back. Could he see? Could he tell it wasn’t real? “We’re just doing our job. If that’s all, I think I’ll go rejoin Chat Noir.”

“Of course. Have a good rest of your night.”

_I don’t know if that’s possible._

“You too.”

She couldn’t leave fast enough. The yoyo felt foreign in her hands.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It was supposed to be final, easy, a mystery man in a mask sent to jail. Cheers and news broadcasts and celebrations. A collective release of breath throughout the entire city. The tension, the pain was supposed to be gone. It wasn’t supposed to be this. Gabriel Agreste in the back of a police car. A weight in her chest. Pain. Pity.

_Adrien._

She would have to tell him. He would see it on the news, maybe already had, but she would still tell him. He needed to know how sorry she was. His father, the only family he had left. It would break him.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Chat was still waiting on the roof. He didn’t turn to look at her as she landed next to him. His eyes stayed fixed on the retreating cars, the flashes of blue. He seemed to have recovered from the shock. A pale tint still colored his cheeks and his eyes were glassy, but he was standing up straight, hands clenched at his side. He hadn’t broken down like she so desperately wanted to, and she appreciated that more than she could say. His strength, however small, gave her strength.

They stood in tense silence until the car lights faded completely, until the citizens began returning to their beds. They stood, side by side as always.

Ladybug reached over, grabbed his hand. He was unresponsive at first. A spike of fear shot through her, but then he laced his fingers with hers. She squeezed, he squeezed back.

“We did it,” she murmured. She didn’t want to disturb the silence of the night, wanted to stay there a little longer. “It’s over. Four years later and it’s finally over. We won.”

“Did we?” Chat’s voice was hoarse, like he’d been crying.

Ladybug looked at him. It was hard to tell with the mask, with the green coloring of his eyes. Had he been crying? She squinted in the dark, stared at his cheek. A cut had been there, stretching from the corner of his mouth to his ear. It was gone now, not even a scar. If she hadn’t seen it, she never would have known it was there in the first place.

Her eyes strayed down to his torso. It was gone now, the tear, the blood. But she couldn’t unsee it, would never get it out of her head. It would haunt her forever. The rapier sliding through his chest. His gasp of pain. Red staining the sword, his skin, her hands. So much red.

Her fault.

_Don’t look._

She looked up, back at his face. His healthy, healthy face. Did he remember? Did he remember the pain, the blood, her scream? Would it haunt him too?

_You died._

“I guess not,” she conceded. This didn’t feel like victory, this hollow in her heart. It felt like loss. “I can’t believe it was Gabriel Agreste.”

Chat’s hand slipped from hers. He turned and stalked to a chimney near the center of the roof. His ears were pressed flat to his head. The belt tail swished behind him. She’d known him long enough to know he was agitated.

“Chat?” Ladybug asked. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer. Her gaze followed his movements, back and forth, like she was spectating a tennis match. Everything about him was tense, like he was a loaded spring ready to be launched.

“ _Chaton_ , what’s wrong?”

A humorless laugh filled the night. It was dark and emotionless. Dead. “What’s wrong?” he snarled. “Kind of a dumb question don’t you think? Everything. Everything is wrong.”

She stepped forward, hands up in a placating gesture. “Calm down, Chat. This isn’t like you.”

He stopped, looked her dead in the eyes. “And you would know what’s ‘like me’ would you?”

It was like a slap to the face. She gaped at him.

“Of course I would, we’ve been partners for four years.”

The pacing continued. Ladybug watched him, confusion and fear warring within. She had never seen him act like this before. Her sweet, flirtatious partner. She’d never seen him so angry. He’d been serious before, when the need arose, but not like this.

“Does that really mean anything though? Do we really know anything about each other?”

“Chat, what are you talking about?” She fought against the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her. She was so tired. Emotionally and physically drained. It was supposed to be over. She was supposed to be home. They had already been put through so much. Why now did she have to deal with this too?

“This. Us. Him.” Chat threw one black clad arm in the direction of the police precinct. “Gabriel Agreste had an entire company of people working for him and no one figured out he was a fucking terrorist for four years!”

Ladybug found her own anger rising to the surface. What was he talking about? Why was he accusing all these people who had nothing to do with this?

“You can’t blame them for that. It wasn’t their job to know.”

“Then who’s was it? Adrien’s? Shouldn’t his _son_ have known?!” He was yelling now, almost screaming. Shaking with the force of his anger. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated, lips curled in a snarl. Ears pressed to blond hair as he continued his furious pacing. He looked manic.

For the first time ever, Ladybug was scared of him.

She kept her voice even, tried to remain calm. A shouting match would only rile him up more. And she didn’t have the strength to fight with him. Not now.

“It’s not his fault either. Don’t bring him into this.” Only a low snarl as a response. “Chat why are you getting so angry?”

“Because he’s _my father_!”

Quiet settled over them, so absolute you could hear a pin drop. The roar of engines and people washed over them to fill the silence. Even at night the city never slept. Chat had whirled on her, shoved his face in hers. The sweat on his skin glistened in the dull light of the moon. His breathing was heavy, strained. He looked about to cry. Ladybug had taken a step back from his anger. She was in a fighting stance, muscles tense, ready to move at any moment. Ready to attack. Blood pounded in her ears.

Surely she heard him wrong. There was no way. It had to be wrong.

Adrien Agreste couldn’t be Chat Noir.

“What?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

Chat Noir—Adrien Agreste—breathed deeply. His composure slipped then. The anger left him. His entire body seemed to lose strength at once. He hung his head, shoulders slumping. A whimper escaped him.

When he spoke it was soft, almost too quiet to hear. “Gabriel Agreste is my father.” His voice cracked on the name. “And I just put him in jail.”

And then he was gone.

Ladybug stood there, staring at where he’d been. Her legs were weak, like she’d collapse at any moment. She couldn’t get enough air. She couldn’t breath. Like her lungs were black holes, sucking everything in, never full. He couldn’t be. The world couldn’t be that cruel. It couldn’t. She was supposed to be good luck. It was all supposed to be okay in the end.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

_Stop. Breathe. Focus._

_Don’t look._

A tear fell, then another, and another, until she crumpled under the weight of them. Under the weight of her pain, her grief. She curled into herself, sobs racking her body. The facade, the strength, the hero of Paris, slipped away. All that remained was the girl. The girl who had been asked to hold up the sky. The girl who had been crushed under it. And she mourned. She mourned a friend, a partner. She mourned a boy who died and came back. Mourned a boy who had lost everything.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

 

——————————

 

It began to rain on her way home.

She slipped in through the window, careful not to make a sound. The skylight would have been easier, more quiet. But she was much too tired to change wet bed sheets.

A flash of pink lit up the dark as the suit fell away. The god creature—the one who gave her this power—spun through the air. Tikki studied her chosen for a moment, then flew to the hidden stash of cookies. She returned with a cookie in hand seconds later.

Marinette hadn’t registered her absence or her return. The girl stood in the room, eyes fixed on the wall, seeing but not seeing. Seeing his face, his anger, his pain. Seeing the truth for the first time. Seeing it and wishing she hadn’t.

She wasn’t angry about knowing. That wasn’t it. The reason she had been so adamant about secrecy in the first place was protection. Protecting her family, her friends. Herself. She was Ladybug, yes, but underneath the suit she was human. She could not be everywhere. She could not protect everyone.

But now that reason was gone. There was no risk of her family being targeted, her friends being used against her. That danger was past, the person causing it in a cell. Now she knew the truth. And all the truth brought her was pain. She wasn’t angry, not at him. In fact, she would have suggested a reveal the next time they crossed paths.

No. She was angry at Gabriel Agreste. She was angry at the man who betrayed his son, who left him with nothing but fear and hatred. She was angry at Hawkmoth, who did terrible things to innocent people. She was angry at the man who terrorized her city. This man who made emotions something to fear, and had the audacity to claim it was all for family.

The soft patter of rain on the roof brought Marinette back to herself. Her gaze cleared. Her eyes—still red and puffy from crying—roved the room, met Tikki’s, large and worried. She ignored the tiny god’s unspoken question. Her steps were soundless as she moved around, changing into a pair of pajamas. She grabbed her phone from the desk, then retreated to her bed.

Alya had sent dozens of texts and called half a dozen times. Marinette scrolled through the messages, only vaguely paying attention to their content. Most were the same, just talk about the battle. Marinette had been focused on the fight itself, on Hawkmoth and Chat. She hadn’t given much thought to the civilians watching. But she had no doubt Alya was there. Nino as well, trying to protect his girlfriend however he could.

Then Chat got stabbed. In an instant Alya’s texts went from excited to horrified. Marinette felt sick just reading them. It was like the city had forgotten that they were still people. Like they forgot this wasn’t a movie. Their heroes weren’t invincible.

They had believed they were. Nothing had hurt them in five years. They didn’t think anything could. Tikki and Plagg had shattered that belief. Everything has a weakness. They were about to face theirs. The suits only weakness were the weapons of other miraculous holders.

A rapier cutting his suit like butter. Blood. A scream.

Bile rose in her throat.

_Stop._

His last breath a whispered declaration.

_Stop._

White hot anger.

_Stop._

It had been a rude awakening.

And everyone had seen it. It had been covered by every major news outlet, from every possible angle. It would be everywhere. She would see it everywhere. She would never stop seeing it.

Too much. It was all too much.

_Stop stop stop stop-_

“Marinette.” Tikki’s voice, distant, warbled. “Marinette I need you to breathe.”

She was hyperventilating, breath coming in ragged gasps. She focused on Tikki, using her voice as an anchor.

“That’s good. Just slow down. Breathe in and out. Slowly.”

She came back to herself. The phone was lying face down. Her legs were pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them. She’d squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the awful images. Trying to forget. Her whole body shook.

The urge to cry again rushed over her. Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to fall. She pushed them back. She had no right to cry anymore. It wasn’t her father who’d been arrested. Wasn’t her father who’d shoved a sword through her chest. It wasn’t her life that had fallen apart.

As if reading her mind, Tikki said, “You can cry too Marinette. You’re allowed to cry over this too.”

Marinette shook her head weakly. “I’m fine.”

A small sigh. A pressure on her head. Marinette took a moment to regain her bearings, to reign in her emotions. Then she picked up the phone again. Alya’s last dozen texts ended in worry. Worry for Ladybug and Chat Noir, worry for Marinette, for Adrien. Texts of _where are you? Why aren’t you answering your phone? Have you talked to Adrien? He’s not answering either._ Because he was with her, fighting his father. Dying.

_Breathe._

The phone slipped from her fingers. Marinette closed her eyes, focused on the material of the blanket under her, on the light coming through her window, on the rain. Anything to keep her there, now. She was alive. Chat was alive. Hawkmoth was no longer a threat. Everything was okay.

Nothing was okay.

Tikki sat with her while she tried to slow her racing mind. The kwami was quiet. There was nothing she could say the would make any of this better. So she said nothing. She provided silent comfort, a weight to ground the girl. This brave girl who had chosen to take a burden she knew nothing about. This brave girl who’s entire world had changed.

There would be questions, of course. There always were. After the emotions, after the confusion. She would have questions, five years of them. And Tikki would have answers.

But she knew that before the questions came this. The breakdown. So she sat and watched. Waited. There would be time for everything.

Minutes passed—or maybe it was hours. Finally Marinette stirred, letting out a deep breath. Opened her eyes. Tikki’s small body settled on the bed in front of her face. Marinette looked at Tikki. Tikki looked back. Ready. The time for secrecy was gone.

“You knew didn’t you? That Adrien was Chat Noir?” Her voice was rough from crying.

Tikki nodded. “I did. And Plagg knew you were Ladybug.”

“Because of Dark Owl?”

The god shook her head. “Since the beginning. Plagg and I could sense each other when you were at school.”

Another breath. A disbelieving laugh.

“He was right in front of me the entire time. _Mon Chaton_. How could we both be so blind?”

“You act differently in the suits. And there was magic involved.”

“Still,” Marinette sighed. The weariness was evident in her voice. “We put his father in jail.”

“You did.”

Marinette rubbed a hand down her face. In her mind, she replayed every interaction she’d ever had with Gabriel. “I was right.”

“When?”

Fourteen year old Ladybug, still with pigtails and a blind belief that the world was good. Fourteen year old Chat, refusing to even consider what she was saying. Standing on the roof of Francois Dupont, arguing about a man shrouded in mystery. She understood now. At the time it had confused her to no end, but now it made sense. Why he was so adamant that Gabriel couldn’t be Hawkmoth. Why his whole being had let out a sigh of relief when they’d cleansed the akuma. She understood, and she hated Gabriel all the more for it.

“A few years ago. After Volpina. That whole book incident when Gabriel Agreste turned into the Collector. I was right.” Her eyes were dull. “We could have stopped this years ago.”

“You could have,” Tikki agreed. “But would that really have been better?”

A frown knit her brow. “What do you mean?”

“Adrien would have lost his father at fourteen.”

“. . . I didn’t think about that.”

“Everything happens for a reason Marinette.”

“Does it?” she snapped. Tikki jerked back at her outburst. “Then tell me, what’s the reason for this? Why did Gabriel Agreste have to be Hawkmoth?”

“Marinette,” Tikki murmured. It wasn’t scolding, just sad.

The flare of anger disappeared. “I’m sorry. I just don’t understand Tikki. Why him? Why does Adrien always lose?”

“Some people are just born with tragedy in their blood.”

Marinette let out a soft laugh. It felt wrong, even that small bit of joy. This was no time for laughter. “Why are you quoting Donnie Darko?”

Tikki cocked her head. It reminded Marinette of a bird. “Who?”

“Never mind.” A thought came to her, one she didn’t want to entertain. But she needed to know. “Did Master Fu know that Gabriel Agreste was Hawkmoth?”

“No,” Tikki answered confidently. “He wouldn’t have kept that from you.”

“He kept other things from us,” Marinette pointed out.

She didn’t bother keeping the acid from her voice. She would be forever grateful to Master Fu for giving her Tikki and the miraculous. But she would also be forever angry at him for keeping secrets, for forcing _her_ to keep secrets.

“For good reason. He was being careful.”

“Careful about what?” She shifted so she was sitting up, leaning against her pillow. Tikki landed in her cupped hands. “I think it would’ve been helpful to know we weren’t invincible when we first started this.”

“Marinette, you have to understand. Master Fu is responsible for the deaths of every other Guardian. He made a mistake before and he wanted to be sure he wouldn’t make another one.” Marinette pursed her lips but said nothing. Tikki added, “And if he had known, I’m not sure anything would have been different. You’re heroes, both of you. _You_ are Ladybug and Chat Noir. Even if he had known Gabriel Agreste had the butterfly, he likely would have given Adrien the ring regardless. This is how it was meant to be.”

The girl scowled. “That’s stupid.”

Tikki smiled. “It may be,” she admitted.

“And who trusts two teenagers with a job like this? Shouldn’t you give the super powerful magic objects to people who are more emotionally stable?”

Tikki’s laugh rang out. “Probably. But can you really say you regret being Ladybug?”

Marinette was quiet a moment. Then she brought Tikki to her face. She placed a kiss on the kwami’s forehead. “Never.”

The god looked at her chosen, the smile slipping off her face. “You did the right thing Marinette. Never doubt that.”

“I know. I just wish it didn’t feel like this.”

“It will get better. I promise.” She hovered above the girl’s hands. “You should sleep.”

Marinette nodded absently as she moved onto her side. Tikki settled on the bed’s railing. She fixed her ancient, endless gaze on her chosen. Thousands of years since their creation, but the human race hadn’t changed. Not in the ways that mattered. They were so fragile, so easily breakable. She had seen everything, had seen civilizations rise and fall. She was creation itself. But humans would always confuse her. And she would always care for them.

So she sat and watched. Waited.

And she knew that somewhere in a cold, empty house, a black cat was doing the same.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter jumps around a bit more than the first one. Also slight trigger warning that I maybe should have put on the first chapter as well. Marinette has a bit of a panic attack in this one. Enjoy.

The next day was Sunday. Marinette woke to find her clothes plastered to her skin with sweat. Her eyes felt dry, and it hurt to look at the sun streaming through her skylight. She pushed herself onto her elbows. The world spun around her. She squeezed her eyes shut and collapsed back onto her pillow. Her blankets had been wrapped around her body during the night. Now they were suffocatingly tight. She kicked them aside, picked at her pajamas to let the cold air in the room touch her skin. Tikki landed on the large cat pillow—jokingly at first, and then lovingly named Chat Blanc—at the head of the bed.

“Are you okay Marinette?”

Adrien’s face stared at her from her wall. She looked at the picture hanging by her bed. It was a fairly recent one, taken after Nino had told them all a joke. Adrien was laughing, eyes shut, mouth wide. She could practically hear the sound of it now. There were more like that around her room, interspersed with pictures of Alya and Nino. A few class pictures had been pinned up as well, taken during get class picnics or projects.

Her favorite one was a selfie she’d taken with Adrien the year before. The four of them (Marinette, Adrien, Alya, and Nino) had been making cupcakes for Rose’s birthday. In the picture, Adrien had frosting on his nose and forehead. Marinette had a flour handprint on either cheek. She was laughing and Adrien was sticking his tongue out at the camera and she remembered that day as clearly as if it was yesterday. The sun shining through the bakery windows, lighting his hair like it was fire. His excitement at making cupcakes for the first time (a disgrace if you ask Marinette). The taste of the cupcake batter. Adrien eating one before they could frost it. Alya’s squeal and laugh as Nino grabbed her and was promptly hit in the face with batter. Even just thinking about it made her smile.

But the smile faded as she remembered his face after the fight. During the fight. The horror as Hawkmoth’s transformation fell away. His anger—the snarl in his voice and the fire in his eyes. The white of his skin, growing more pale every second.

_Breathe._

She missed that smile. She missed the happy Adrien she’d gotten to know, always ready with a joke. Always ready to cheer her up. Had dying changed him? Had knowing who his father truly was changed him? Would she ever hear his laugh again?

“Marinette?”

The mattress groaned as she rolled to peer over the edge of the bed. Sabine’s head pocked through the open trapdoor. Marinette gave her a half hearted smile. She knew she looked bad. Sweaty, hair a mess, eyes red and puffy.

“Are you going to get out of bed today?”

She shook her head. “I think I’m sick,” she said, voice hoarse.

Sabine gave her a sympathetic look. She climbed the rest of the way into the room, then made her way up the ladder to Marinette’s bed. The pillow moved ever so slightly as Tikki ducked under it, out of Sabine’s view. Her maman’s hand was cold against her hot forehead. Sabine placed a kiss on her hair.

“I’ll bring you a croissant and some tea.

“I’m not really hungry,” Marinette protested weakly.

“You should still try to eat honey. It’ll help you feel better.”

Marinette wasn’t sure she could stomach anything but she agreed regardless. Better to just go along with it than to argue. Sabine backed down the ladder and Marinette watched the trapdoor close over her. She stared at the door until her maman came back. Sabine placed the food on Marinette’s desk, so she could get it if when she was ready to eat. Tikki pressed against Marinette’s neck as the older woman left again.

The first bite made her sick. She was sure she’d throw up by the fourth. She didn’t, but the croissant didn’t settle in her stomach for a few hours. Tikki and Sabine encouraged her to keep eating. It took all day, and the tea had to be warmed up more than once, but she eventually finished the meal. She stayed in bed most of the day, getting up only to relieve herself, take a shower, and change clothes. The shower didn’t help her stomach, but it temporarily soothed the hurt she felt every time she moved. Her entire body ached, down to her bones. She tried to fall asleep, but her attempted rest was ruined by images of the battle. She gave up some time around noon.

But it wasn’t the ache that kept her in bed. It was the sickness. Not a sickness that could be cured with medicine and hot soup. Not a sickness that would fade in a day or two. Not a sickness in the traditional sense. It was a sickness in her heart, a hollow feeling in her chest. She felt empty. That was the real reason she stayed in bed.

Time passed slowly with nothing to fill it. She had no motivation to sew or sketch, to even do something as simple as a puzzle. She checked her phone but neglected to check social media or the internet. She didn’t need to see what people were saying yet. Maybe she never would.

Alya texted her a few times, asking if she was okay and _why hadn’t she answered last night?_ She answered now, disgusted by every lie she sent. Nino texted her once too, and she gave him the same response she gave Alya. Her eyes strayed to her messages with Adrien as she was closing the app. Looking at his contact picture—forehead and nose smeared with frosting—almost made her cry again. Their most recent conversation had been an exchange of cat gifs, followed by a pun from Adrien. She turned off her phone completely before she could do something stupid like text him. She was probably the last person he wanted to hear from.

Tikki stayed by her side all day. Marinette rubbed her necklace—a gift from the small god for her birthday the first year—absently. The tiny being’s voice would fill the silence occasionally. It was always comforting, assurance that everything would be okay. She didn’t see how that was possible. Everything had changed. It was like a chemical reaction. Once it happened, the chemicals could never return to their previous state. There had been a reaction, and now it was all different. It had all fallen apart. Nothing would ever be the same.

How could any of this ever be okay?

——————————

Marinette forced herself to school on Monday. The sky was devoid of clouds and the birds chirped from trees and roofs. Everything was bright and blooming. It was almost like the fight had never happened. But a heaviness hung over the city. Everyone was reeling from the fight. Ladybug and Chat Noir had not yet made an appearance to comment on the fight, and so people hung in a state of nervous excitement. Talk of it was everywhere. The news showed clips of the fight, social media was blowing up with hashtags, people were posting about it on blogs and video platforms. Her parents had even made Ladybug and Chat Noir cookies, handing out a free one to every person that walked through the door. Marinette slipped out before they could offer her one.

Alya and Nino were waiting on the steps for her. She was engulfed by Alya's arms almost immediately. The hug lasted several seconds, and Marinette was reluctant to let go. She hadn’t realized how much she needed a hug until she got one. Nino gave her a half smile and a side hug. He looked as bad as she did--dark bags under his eyes, feet dragging, shoulders slumped. His headphones were absent from their typical perch around his neck. Alya looked at both of them and shook her head.

“I’m always taking care of you two,” she said, but it wasn’t angry. “He’ll be fine. He’s strong.”

It almost sounded like she was trying to convince herself.

“Yeah,” Nino agreed. He grabbed Alya’s hand and held it tight. “Let’s get to class.”

They trudged up the steps of the school and to their classroom. The entire room went silent when they walked in. Their classmates looked at them with pity. Always pity. Marinette clenched her fist. They could keep their pity; she didn’t want it. Pity did nothing. It didn’t erase Adrien’s death from her mind, didn’t change Hawkmoth’s identity. It didn’t fix anything that had gone wrong. Screw their pity.

Chloe was the first to break the tense silence. Makeup powdered her face, more than usual. Marinette guessed it was to hide the red that no doubt ringed her eyes. “You look terrible,” she stated, no pity whatsoever. She examined her nails with indifference.

Marinette snorted. “You do too.”

She thought she could see a hint of a smile bend Chloe’s lips. It wasn’t condescending. The rest of the room returned to their conversations, most of which were about the two heroes. Marinette tuned them out and shuffled to her desk. She placed her bag down but didn’t sit. Her gaze moved to the seat beside her. Alya squeezed her shoulder as she passed.

“You can sit with us. I’m sure M. Sartre would make an exception.”

The offer was tempting, but Marinette shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”

Another squeeze before the hand disappeared. Marinette sat, fixing her eyes on the board. Voices rose around her, growing louder and softer, waves coming ashore and retreating back to the ocean. She could feel Alya’s concerned stare drilling holes in her back. She studiously ignored it. Why was Alya worried about her? She wasn’t the one who’s father had been arrested.

Monsieur Sartre walked in. He placed his bag on his desk and examined the class. His gaze snagged on Adrien’s seat. Marinette saw pity (why was it always pity?) twist his features for a moment.

“Good morning class,” he greeted.

“Good morning,” they chorused. It didn’t sound like a good morning. M. Sartre nodded and turned to the board. There was a collective unzipping of backpacks as they all pulled out their tablets to take notes. Marinette pulled hers out as well, although she wasn’t sure how much attention she’d pay to the lesson. Her mind was too full already.

The seat beside her remained empty all day.

Everything was going well until M. Sartre gave them time to work on the group projects he had assigned the week before. Marinette turned around to face Alya and Nino. Everyone else clambered around the room to get in their groups. But once they had all settled, they returned to talking about Ladybug and Chat Noir, finishing their conversations from before class. M. Sartre didn’t seem surprised or bothered by it. Typically Alya would be one of the loudest voices in these conversations, along with Chloe and Adrien. (Alya always said Adrien had a soft spot for Ladybug. Marinette understood now. He had more feelings for the heroine than Alya realized.) But, as if her prayers had been answered, Alya got right to working on the project. Maybe it was out of respect for Adrien, or maybe she just didn’t want to talk about it. Marinette didn’t know, and she didn’t really care either. As long as she didn’t have to think about Chat or Hawkmoth, she was fine.

Metal hit metal. Marinette thought it was in her head, until the entire room went quiet. Her head snapped up, eyes roving her classmates, zeroing in on the source. It was a student on the other side of the room, one she hadn’t talked to much. He was watching the battle on his phone, a crowd of people gathered around him. Chat’s voice, distant and quiet, could be heard in the silence. He said something and Hawkmoth spat something in response.

Marinette could see it as clearly as if it was happening now. She could feel the stinging pain of the cut on her leg, could see Chat’s hair bouncing as he engaged Hawkmoth, sword against staff. She could see the moment Chat faltered, the moment Hawkmoth—his father—got inside his guard. The rapier driven into his chest. The light reflecting off the tip as it came out the other side, coated in red. Chat’s entire body went stiff. He gasped, and when he coughed it was wet and there was red. Blood darkened his peach lips.

Ladybug’s scream echoed in the room.

_‘CHAT!’_

_Stop._

His blood pulsing through her fingers. Hawkmoth’s cold voice.

_‘How pathetic. I expected more.’_

The blinding rage.

“Dude, Ladybug was like an avenging angel.”

_Stop._

“Marinette, are you okay?”

Why did everyone keep asking her that? No. She was very obviously not okay. But she couldn’t say that. She couldn’t tell them because they’d ask why. And she couldn’t tell the truth. She might be allowed to now, because Hawkmoth—Gabriel Agreste—was behind bars, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. They were lodged in her chest, in her lungs, taking up all the space that should have been filled with air. She would open her mouth and they would get stuck. They would choke her. But she couldn’t lie either. She had spent so many years lying, making excuses and cancelling plans and disappearing and being a terrible friend. She was tired of lying.

“Marinette?”

_I had to watch my best friend get stabbed by his own father and he died in my arms and now his only living family member is in jail because of me. No Alya, I’m far from okay but you wouldn’t understand because you don’t know and I can’t tell you and—_

“You’re really pale. Are you still sick? Should I take you to the nurse?”

The room swayed as she stood. M. Sartre looked up, concern taking over his aging face. “Mlle. Dupain-Cheng?”

Her hands were shaking. Her entire body was shaking. She swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. Nothing came out when she opened her mouth, just a shaky breath. Her vision went blurry, head light, like she had just stood up too suddenly. It was disorienting. Nothing felt real. Her hands went numb and the memory of what she’d been doing only a minute ago felt fake, dream-like. She didn’t feel attached to her body.

Eyes darted to her as she fell forward, hands slamming down on the wooden desk to keep her upright. Talk of the heroes died down. M. Sartre began to push himself out of his chair.

“Mlle. Dupain-Cheng, are you alright?”

_No. How could I possibly be alright?_

_I’m peachy, a hundred percent, absolutely perfect. How are you?_

“Can I . . . I need to use the restroom.”

She needed to get out. She needed to get away, to breathe.

“I really think you should see the nurse dear. Mlle. Césaire, would you—“

“The bathroom. I just need to use the bathroom.”

M. Sartre, bless his heart, seemed ready to argue with her. She was obviously not well and the best option would be to see the nurse. Anyone in the room could attest to how sick she looked. Her skin was paper white, like all the blood had left her body at once. She looked down at her hands, palms flat on the desk. But she didn’t see her skin. She saw his as the blood pumped from a hole in his chest, falling from him in streams. His skin was pale too, ghostly pale. Deathly pale. The black of his suit seemed to emphasize it.

_Why won’t it stop?_

“Yes. You can use the restroom. Alya”—M. Sartre rarely called them by their first names—“please go with her.”

“No,” Marinette got out. “I’ll be fine.”

“Marinette—“

She stumbled from the room before he could say more. The door closed with a slam that seemed amplified, deafeningly loud. Something hit her leg with every step. Out of habit she’d grabbed her purse, and it hung in her loose grip, swinging side to side. Her vision dipped, fish-eyed. The hallway grew, appearing so much longer than it was. The air was too hot and she was suffocating. What was happening to her? Was she having a heart attack? A stroke?

Was she dying?

_‘Come on Chat, stay with me.’_

The bathroom was empty. She crashed into a stall, fumbled with the latch to keep it shut.

_‘I need you to keep your eyes open please.’_

_No more._

_‘Bugaboo—‘_

His wheezing breath as he fought to raise his voice so he could be heard.

_‘I’ll get help just stay awake.’_

_Make it stop. Please just make it stop._

She collapsed onto the closed toilet, hugged her legs to her chest.

_‘Ladybug stop.’_

_‘Please. Please you have to stay. I can’t do this alone.’_

_‘Ladybug. I love you.’_

Warmth covering her hands. Blood covering her hands. A pained sob, ripped from her.

_Shut up._

_‘Chat.’_

_‘You are . . . the greatest thing . . . that’s ever happened to . . . me.’_

_Shut up._

_’No.’_

_‘Kick his ass.’_

“Shut up,” she gasped.

The door of the bathroom swung open and Alya’s shoes came into view. She stopped in front of the stall Marinette was in, rattling it.

“Marinette.” She bit her lip to keep from making any noise. The door shook, the room shook. Everything was shaking and she was falling apart. “Marinette let me in. Please.”

“I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

“Why not? What happened?”

“I can’t.” It was all she could say. Her hands gripped her head, encasing her in darkness, blocking out the world. But they couldn’t block her thoughts.

“Mari,” Alya pleaded.

“Make it stop.” The words were nothing but a breath, a sigh of air, a desperate prayer too quiet for Alya to hear.

Marinette’s purse lay in the space between the door and the floor, closed. It moved slightly, and if Alya had looked down she would have seen it. If she had opened it, she would have found Tikki. If she had opened it, she would have known. Or maybe not. Maybe the magic protected her identity from civilians. Could she tell Alya now? Would Tikki be angry if she did?

No. She’d promised Chat he would be the first to know. Chat, who was also Adrien. Chat, who was her best friend in both lives, who understood her better than even Alya. The only person who would ever understand the responsibility they’d been given, who would understand her fear of failure. It had been a joke when she’d said it to Tikki before, but now it was no longer a joke. They were so young when they started. They were little more than children.

Who put the fate of Paris in the hands of two teenagers? 

——————————

She stopped stuttering around Adrien their first year of lycée. They all went to the same school (after some begging on Adrien’s part) and had many of the same classes. Marinette was ecstatic. It would give her plenty of time to practice having an actual conversation with Adrien. She planned to do this from her usual position behind him, Alya next to her to jump in if it looked like she was committing conversational suicide. What she hadn’t counted on was Alya and Nino asking to sit together. Adrien and Marinette, of course, said yes. Which left them next to each other.

It was hard at first. Conversations were short and awkward, filled with a lot of blushing on Marinette’s part and confused smiles on Adrien’s. There were moments when she’d forget exactly who she was talking to, when she could talk like a normal person. But the stuttering didn’t truly stop until the third week of school, when Adrien Agreste made a pun.

(Looking back, it seemed right that it was a cat pun.)

It was habit that made her react the way she did. A rolling of her eyes, a sarcastic laugh and some comment she’d normally throw and Chat. Only Adrien wasn’t Chat. And she wasn’t Ladybug. Upon realizing this, Marinette had frozen like a dear in headlights. Her face went beat red. She kept her mouth shut to avoid further embarrassment, but the damage had been done. Adrien stared at her with wide eyes. Then a smile slowly split his lips. It was such a Chat smile really—teeth showing, eyes crinkled. It was a wonder she hadn’t figured it out then.

This interaction had started what they later referred to as “Pun Week.” Adrien took every available opportunity to pun, and every time he would give her that same cheeky smile. She had been hesitant, but by the end of the week she was shooting him witty comments and making jokes. It was easier to talk to him once she realized how much of a dork he was.

Their relationship had changed after that. She destroyed the copy of his schedule, took the pictures off her wall. She took him off the pedestal she’d placed him on. Her crush was still there, but it was more manageable now. It was more real. She got to know him, the real him. The human, flawed him. Not Adrien Agreste, teen model, but Adrien, the lycée student who loves anime and cats and puns. He became a real person. He became one of her best friends.

(Knowing what she knew now, it was no wonder they worked so well together.)

The more she learned about him, the more he reminded her of Chat. How oblivious she’d been. How funny it was that she’d known him the whole time.

She pushed Chat Noir away because of her feelings for Adrien. She had rejected Adrien for Adrien. He had flirted with her constantly, without the slightest idea she was right next to him.

It seemed life had a sense of humor.

She wasn’t laughing. 

——————————

Adrien wasn’t at school the next day. Or for the rest of the week.

After her episode, Marinette had gone home. Alya was worried sick, but she seemed to understand that Marinette couldn’t talk about it, even if she didn’t understand why. She and Nino had come over after school to give her the work she’d missed and just as comfort. They watched Disney movies until the sun set. It was nice, and it almost felt normal. The only thing missing was Adrien. Nothing was normal unless Adrien was by her side in one form or the other.

Sabine was reluctant to let her go to school Tuesday, but she relented when Marinette assured her she was fine. A lie slipped from her mouth without thought. She said she was just stressed about an upcoming test. Sabine believed her. Marinette refused a hero cookie.

She managed to avoid having another panic attack that week. Adrien’s absence was felt in every class. Eyes strayed toward his empty seat, toward her. It was like there was a flashing neon sign above his seat that people just couldn’t look away from. It was quiet, lonely. More than once she found herself turning to where he would be, a joke ready on her tongue. She expected to hear him pun at least once per class. Every time she remember he wasn’t there, it was like watching him die all over again.

During lunch she sketched. Not clothes—she still had no motivation for that—but him. Adrien. Chat. (Chatrien? Adrichat?) Her best friend. She drew him laughing, smiling, frowning. She drew him bowing, his lips pressed to her knuckle. She drew him protecting her, staff out, snarling. She drew him with a sword in his chest. It was the only way to get the images out, to expel them from her mind. They played again and again in her head, a broken record, and this was the only way to keep herself sane. She drew what haunted her. The blade tearing skin and muscle. The absence of his pulse, of his life.

It was therapeutic. Tikki still urged her to talk to someone (Adrien), but she didn’t seem opposed to this method. Alya frowned at the drawings but said nothing. Nino acted as if they were just another dress or shirt Marinette was designing. It wasn’t perfect, but for now it worked.

Attempts to get in contact with Adrien, however, did not work. Texts were never delivered, and calls went straight to voicemail. With every failed attempt, Nino and Alya grew more anxious. Marinette hadn’t made an effort to talk with him yet.Guilt welled in her every time she thought about it, but she ignored the feeling. This was for the best. Besides, what would she even say to him?

_Hey, nice weather we’re having. Oh, and sorry I helped put your dad in jail after watching him stab you. Croissant?_

No. Contacting him was a bad idea. She could only make things worse. And besides, what right did she have to comfort him?

Nino had no such qualms. He called every hour, sent a text every ten minutes. Like he thought if he tried long enough, Adrien would eventually answer. Alya sent her fair share of messages as well, but she seemed more willing to accept the facts. Adrien was not going to answer. If they wanted to talk to him, they’d have to do it in person. Although that might not be possible either. Alya talked to Chloe (willingly) on Thursday, a strange interaction in that it lacked the usual eye rolls, sneers, and insults. The class was shocked.

“Hey Chloe?” Alya asked before class.

The blonde looked up from filling her nails. Heads turned their way, waiting for Chloe’s response. It never came. She raised an eyebrow. And that was it. There was no snide remark, not even a laugh. Just an eyebrow raised, a sign of acknowledgement. Marinette stared at the mayor’s daughter. Her face looked different, more real than usual. Her skin didn’t shine under the fluorescent lights above them. She wasn’t wearing makeup.

It was strange to think about. Chloe had always worn makeup, even when she was younger. Her hair was always styled, her lips were always cherry red, and her skin always looked perfect, blemishes covered with layers of makeup. But there was none now, not even around her eyes to hide the bruises under them. Anyone could see how tired Chloe was with just a glance. Marinette could sympathize. They all could. They were all tired.

“Have you talked to Adrien?”

Chloe seemed to crumple a little. She shook her head. “I was hoping you had.”

“He turned his phone off.”

“Yeah I know that,” Chloe snapped. There was a heavy sigh. “I tried to visit the other day but Nathalie wouldn’t let me in.”

Alya hummed in response. Chloe’s gaze swept the stunned faces of their classmates. A (mostly) civilized conversation between Chloe and, well, anyone really, was unheard of. But, like they say, there’s a first time for everything. Even if that conversation was only a few seconds long.

“What?” she challenged. People resumed their previous activities.

Chloe turned back to her nails, but not before making eye contact with Marinette. There was a shared pain in their look, an understanding. Chloe and Adrien may not be as close as they used to be, but they were still friends. Chloe still cared about him. And knowing the pain he must be going through, the loneliness, the regret, the guilt, hurt her too. Something crossed Chloe’s face. Marinette almost thought it was a plea. After all, they knew that if anyone could get through to Adrien, it was Marinette.

Oh, if only they knew the truth.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has left kudos or comments or bookmarked this story. Your support encourages me to keep writing. Enjoy this last chapter.

Marinette returned the butterfly miraculous on Friday after school.

After the fight, she’d taken it home, too tired to see Master Fu then. It remained in her room for almost a week, tucked away where no one could see it. Where she couldn’t see it. On Thursday she’d pulled it out, held it in her palm. It was large, larger than her earrings at least. A purple gem with four silver-purple butterfly wings extending from it. In reality, it weighed less than a pound, but it felt a hundred pounds heavier.

Did Nooroo know what happened? Was he aware that he was finally free from Gabriel’s control? Or was he in the dark, scared, trapped inside the miraculous once again? Marinette’s free hand rose, fingers brushing one earring. Even after four years she wasn’t sure about the mechanics of it all. What exactly were the suits made of? What did the kwami experience in the miraculous? Were they conscious of what was happening around them? Did Tikki know what Marinette did in the suit?

She wanted to ask. There were still so many questions, all fighting to be asked first. But what was the point? She wasn’t even sure if she’d be allowed to keep her miraculous. Ladybug and Chat Noir weren’t needed now that Hawkmoth was gone. Would Fu try to take the earrings?

The wings of the brooch felt odd. There were smooth like glass, but they felt thin, fragile. Like they would break at any moment. Her palm grew hot. She could talk to him. She could ask all the questions swirling in her mind. Surely Nooroo could answer them. He’d spent four years with Gabriel, forced to do his bidding. He must know something. All she had to do was pin the brooch to her shirt.

She shook her head, mentally berating herself. Four years. Poor Nooroo had been used for evil for four years. He must have been terrified when Gabriel first activated the miraculous. All those years alone, lost. Finally released only to find that it was by a madman chasing a ghost. No. It would be cruel to interrogate him now. He deserved a break.

So the next morning she slid the brooch into her purse. She carried it with her at school, waiting for the moment she could get rid of it. It burned a hole in her metaphorical pocket all day.

Fu’s parlor was devoid of customers when she arrived. Come to think of it, she had never actually seen him give a massage to anyone. Maybe it was all a front. He was sitting cross-legged at the small table, a kettle of water resting on it. Steam rose from the spout, curling in the air. He held a small black cup of tea in his hand. Wayzz sat in his usual spot on the record player. Marinette knew that under that record player was a box containing over a dozen miraculous. Five were missing, she knew. At that moment, she possessed two.

“Ah, Ladybug. It is good to see you again.”

Marinette pulled the butterfly miraculous from her purse and placed it on the table. Wayzz gasped and flew over, settling beside the brooch. Fu gave her a sad smile.

“Thank you. You’ve done well.”

A spark of anger ignited in her chest. She’d done well. Was that all he had to say? After everything he had put them through, that was it? She’d done well. It didn’t feel like she’d done well. It felt like she’d ruined her best friend’s life. Does that seem like a job well done?

She looked down at him, towering even with her small stature. For years she had followed this man’s guidance, trusted his judgement. She had relied on his for assistance. Under his orders, she had kept secrets from Chat Noir, from her _partner_. And in the end, her reward had been pain. No more. She was done. She had nothing left to say to him.

Part of her expected him to stop her as she walked away, to demand her earrings back. Part of her was ready for a fight. Instead, he said, “I am truly sorry about Chat Noir. I did not know it would be like this.”

_Join the club._

There was no answer.

——————————

“We’re going to visit Adrien.”

Marinette stared at Alya. Nino stood behind her. It was Saturday morning and she wasn’t ready. A week had gone by but she wasn’t ready. She couldn’t see him. Not yet. She wasn’t strong enough. The last time she’d seen him he was yelling at her. The last time she’d seen him his father was in a police car. Thinking about him was hard. Seeing him would be unbearable.

“Give me a minute,” she told them.

It took her five to get ready. She told her parents where she was going (and ignored their sympathetic looks), and then she joined her friends. Her friends, who knew nothing of her extra curricular activities, who still had no idea what caused her panic attack on Monday. Her friends, who didn’t understand why she had yet to text Adrien, why she was so reluctant to see him. Her friends, who would never truly understand anything, even if she told them. There was a chasm between them, one that might get smaller and smaller until it was almost nonexistent, but would never completely disappear. Some part of her would always be removed from them.

She swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat.

The walk to the mansion was quiet. It was a relief, because Marinette wasn’t sure she’d be able to say anything. She was too focused on resisting the urge to run away. Her legs shook, her stomach churned. It was like collége all over again, except this time her nervousness wasn’t a result of her uncontrollable crush. It was a result of her fear. Tikki’s weight in the purse pressed against her leg. Alya walked ahead of her, phone sticking out of her back pocket. Nino’s arm was draped over Alya’s shoulders, hugging her against him. Her arm was around his torso. Marinette followed, clenching and unclenching her fists. Sweat gathered on her palms, under her arms. The spring air was a little hot. Or maybe that was just her.

The shadow of Agreste Mansion loomed over them much too fast. Nathalie answered the door within seconds of Nino knocking. She looked worn out, her usually immaculate appearance ruffled. Stray hairs stuck out of her bun. The tablet usually glued to her hand was missing. Her shirt was wrinkled. Marinette had never seen Nathalie so undone. It was . . . disorienting.

Her shoulders slumped in relief when she saw them. They were ushered into the house.

Marinette’s eyes were drawn to the space above the stars. Where a portrait of Gabriel and Adrien sat before was now empty wall. A slight discoloration in the paint was the only hint the picture had been there in the first place.

The cavity in her chest grew.

Nathalie followed her gaze. “I had it taken down the day after he was arrested,” she explained.

“I always hated that picture,” Marinette murmured. It wasn’t the only thing she hated about this house.

“Did you know about M. Agreste?” Alya asked Nathalie.

“No,” the woman said immediately. “If I had . . . I never would have allowed it.”

Alya studied Nathalie with a critical eye. Marinette didn’t want to even entertain the idea of Nathalie knowing. She had always seemed to be on Adrien’s side—letting him go to school that first day, encouraging Gabriel to spend more time with his son. She was Adrien’s protector, the closest thing he had to a mother after Mdm. Agreste died (until he met Sabine at least). There was no way she would have let Gabriel continue with his plan if she’d know. Marinette refused to believe anything else.

Alya nodded a moment later, satisfied with what she saw. “How is Adrien?”

A frown bent Nathalie’s lips. “Not good. He hasn’t come out of his room. I bring him food but he doesn’t eat most of it.”

Nino was already halfway up the stairs when Nathalie finished, shoes squeaking on the polished floor. Alya and Marinette followed at a more reserved pace. Marinette turned back to Nathalie and tried for a reassuring smile. It came out as a grimace.

“Don’t worry. We’ll handle it.”

She desperately hoped it wasn’t a lie.

Nino knocked on Adrien’s door. “Adrien?” he called. “It’s Nino.” No response. “I’ve got Alya and Marinette with me.” Nothing. “Can we come in?”

Silence. Marinette’s mind went to the worst possible scenario: Adrien lying in a pool of his own blood on the bathroom floor. But he wouldn’t do that would he? Not over his father. Right? More than anything, it hurt that she didn’t know.

Nino looked at Alya. Alya shrugged. Nino opened the door.

The food was the first thing Marinette saw. Mostly full plates sat on the coffee table, next to cold tea and warm water. It all looked fresh, no more than a day old. Syrup froze on a plate of pancakes from this morning. The rest of the room was clean. Spotless even. It hardly looked lived in. Had it always looked like that? Had they never noticed, or had they just chosen not to say anything? What kind of friends did that make them? Adrien had always been tight lipped about his home life. They knew his father was absent often, that his mother was missing, possibly dead. But had they ever stopped to think about what those words really meant? Had they ever realized how cold this house really was?

Movement from the bed caught their attention. Three heads whipped toward it. Adrien, lying on his back, arms spread wide. He had turned his head to watch them with hooded green eyes. They were bloodshot. The skin underneath was dark. His hair stuck up at weird angles, and he was dressed in pajama bottoms and an old Jagged Stone t-shirt. Stubble—which she hadn’t even known he was capable of growing—decorated his jaw. His face was blank, carefully devoid of any emotions.

Her eyes went to his chest.

_Stop. Breathe_.

“Hey dude,” Nino greeted. He stepped toward the bed. “How you doin’?” Adrien just stared. Nino took another step, hands out, like he was approaching a cornered animal. Like any sudden motion would set him off. “You haven’t been answering our calls.”

There was no reaction. He was still, pale. The only movement was the slight rise and fall of his chest.

He looked dead.

Marinette closed her eyes.

His body limp in her arms. Blood spilling from his chest.

_Don’t look._

She took a deep breath. Bit her tongue until it bled and used the pain to ground herself. She couldn’t break down, not here. Not in front of them. In front of him.

_Don’t look_.

Adrien was watching her when she opened her eyes. His head was cocked ever so slightly, his eyes dark. He rubbed his thumb over the miraculous on his finger. Marinette had the sudden urge to search for Plagg. Was he here, watching them from some hidden place? Had he tried rousing Adrien? Or had he let him wallow in his grief, sitting alone in a too big room in a too empty house? She had never met the kwami, but she had learned plenty from Chat and Tikki. He was sarcastic and lazy, perpetually hungry. But he cared. Surely he wouldn’t leave his chosen to heal on his own.

“Look, Adrien,” Nino tried, “we just want to make sure you’re okay. We’re really worried man.”

Adrien’s eyes flicked to him. There was a startling lack of recognition, of warmth, like they weren’t friends but merely acquaintances. Merely strangers that had passed on the street. “I’m fine,” he mumbled. His voice was hoarse from disuse. It was hollow.

Marinette felt sick.

All of this for a man who had starved him of affection, who accepted nothing less than perfection. He had used love as a bargaining chip, a reward for when he was pleased. Gabriel had locked Adrien away, forbid him from being himself. And yet Adrien mourned him as if he’d died, as if he had been anything more than abusive.

_He killed you!_ she wanted to scream. _You died in my arms. Because of him_. She wanted to slap him, to shake him until he woke up. Until he came back to them. To her. She couldn’t stand to see him like this. She couldn’t stand to see him so lifeless.

_Breathe._

“Adrien,” Alya said.

“I’m fine,” he repeated. He rolled onto his side, stared at the wall. There was an indent on the bed from where he’d been laying. “Thank you for coming.”

“Adrien, come on man,” Nino pleaded. He sounded close to tears. “Please just—“

“Nino,” Alya interrupted. She shook her head, dejected. “It’s not gonna work. He doesn’t hear us.”

“But—“

She grabbed his hand. “Come on.”

He didn’t fight as she pulled him away. Marinette shuffled behind them. The bed creaked. Adrien’s gaze followed her. She forced herself forward, closed the door behind her with a gentle click.

Nino stopped on the stairs. He clenched his fists, teeth grinding together. “That bastard,” he spat. “I can’t believe he would do this to Adrien. That’s his son, miserable and alone because he—“

“Are you okay Marinette?” Alya asked, effectively cutting off Nino’s tirade. She was looking at the girl in question, face pinched in concern.

Marinette put a hand against the wall for support. She wasn’t sure if she was only sick, or if she was about to have another panic attack. Adrien’s despondent expression was all she could see. She nodded weakly. She didn’t want Alya worrying about her. The journalist had spent enough time doing that this week. Nino’s expression morphed from anger to concern as well.

“We should go,” he suggested. A glance at Adrien’s room. “I think we all need to get out of this house.”

——————————

She visited him that night. Alone. As Ladybug.

A good half an hour had been spent debating it. He was hardly there this morning. What were the odds he’d be anymore willing to talk now? It might be just as useless as their earlier visit. But she couldn’t let him stay like this. It was unhealthy, mentally and physically. She had to at least try to help. What kind of partner would she be if she didn’t?

She was careful not to be seen on her way over. It was too late at night, and the battle was still too fresh in her mind to deal with fans and questions. The room was dark through the glass, lit only by the moonlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. She rapped her knuckle on one. In all honesty, she wasn’t expecting to be let in. There was no reason to think he was better now than he’d been this morning. She almost lost her grip in surprise when one of the panes opened.

Her feet were silent as they hit the floor, eyes strained in the dim light. They were drawn toward to glowing green masses, almond shaped, over the bed. Plagg. He was curled in a mass of blond hair. Adrien. Sitting up, legs bent over the edge of the bed. He was staring at her, a shadow in the dark, just out of reach of the moonlight. She walked around the couch slowly.

“Chat?”

“. . . Yeah.”

He seemed more awake now, more aware. His clothes were different, clean. His hair had been brushed, face shaved. The food had been removed from the table. Maybe their visit hadn’t been completely useless after all.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I was . . .” she trailed off. “There was a lot to process.”

“It’s okay.” It was quiet, only a whisper.

“No, it’s not. You’re my partner. You shouldn’t have to go through this alone.”

A sigh slipped past Adrien’s lips. He ran a hand through his hair. When the blond strands settled, he looked so much like Chat it almost took her breath away. Really, how had she not figured it out before? “I probably wouldn’t have let you in if you’d come any earlier,” he admitted. “I haven’t really been in a talking mood recently.”

Ladybug stepped forward. “What changed?” she asked, voice low.

“My friends came today. I’ve been ignoring their messages all week. I guess they were worried.”

_You guess?_ “Of course they were worried. They’re your friends.”

Adrien said nothing. It struck Ladybug then how little he cared about himself. Chat had always been self sacrificing, putting himself in harm’s way to protect her. And as she got to know Adrien, she learned his humor was often self-deprecating and pessimistic. Sometimes his behavior bordered on depressive. But she’d never realized exactly how far that lack of self care extended. He hadn’t expected his friends to come visit, to make sure he was okay. He didn’t believe he was worth worrying about.

What terrible friends they had been, that they let him continue to think so little of himself.

She took another step. “Adrien—“

“Do you think this is my fault?” He wouldn’t look at her. “Do you think I should’ve known? I mean, he’s my father. I lived with him. Shouldn’t I have seen that something was wrong?” His voice cracked with anger. Not at her, but at himself.

“None of us could have known. Not even you or Nathalie. You can’t blame yourself for this.” She was in front of him then. She knelt down, knees hitting the floor. Adrien kept his eyes down. He fiddled with his ring, twisting it around his finger. Ladybug reached up, cupped his cheek. Even through the gloves she could feel the heat of his skin. She forced him to look at her. “This is _not_ your fault,” she said. “Do you understand?”

He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, nodded. They stayed there for a moment, neither moving, a small smile playing at the corners of Ladybug’s lips. The sounds of Paris drifted through the still open window, brought on the back of a cool breeze. People conversed and laughed. Car engines hummed. Tires crunched on cobblestone streets. A piano played nearby. The noise filled the silence between the two heroes. Ladybug didn’t want to move, from this spot, from this second in time, from this understanding they had come to. There was so much pain and anger trapped inside them both, so much pain to come. So much left to do. But right now that didn’t matter. Right now, it wasn’t hard to believe things would get better.

Adrien’s eyes fluttered open and the moment was over. She dropped her hand. It came to rest on his knee, a touch he seemed to take comfort from.

“Are you mad? Are you mad that I told you?” He hesitated before asking,” Are you disappointed that it’s me?”

That the thought had even crossed his mind made her want to cry. “I could never be disappointed in you.”

It was like he didn’t hear her. “Because I can understand if you are. I mean, you always told me our identities needed to be secret and then I went and spilled and I’m not even anything special I’m just me—“

“Adrien,” she interrupted, forceful but soft. “Never.”

His eyes grew misty. “I—“ His voice broke. “Thank you,” he whispered. It sounded almost awed. “Can I—can I see who you are?”

She had come prepared to do this. She had planned it out in her head. Yet the question brought her back to all the times he’d asked before. All the promises and pleading. How different would they be if they’d known from the beginning? How would things have changed?

She forced herself back to the present. There was no use dwelling on what could have been. Hawkmoth was gone. The fight was over.

No more secrets.

“Tikki, spots off.”

A flash of blinding pink. Plagg’s glowing green eyes appeared to her right as he joined Tikki. The cat god bumped his head against his counterpart’s in greeting. Tikki smiled and pulled him away to give their chosen privacy.

Amusement crept across her face when she found Adrien’s eyes closed. “You can open your eyes _Chaton_.”

He did, slowly. His gaze started at her feet, traced her still kneeling figure, before finally landing on her face. A soft smile. Her name was a sigh on his lips.

“Marinette.”

She smiled back.

“I’m glad. If it was going to be anyone I knew, it was going to be you.” The smile turned into a frown as he once again took in her position. He patted the spot next to him. “You can sit you know.”

The bed dipped under her added weight (however small it was). Adrien grabbed the hand that had been resting on his knee and laced their fingers together. It was cliché and cheesy, but she couldn’t help feel like their hands fit together perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle. His palm was hot against hers, warm and smooth. She vaguely wondered what moisturizer he used (a ridiculous thought, but it made her smile again). His thumb rubbed circle’s on the back of her hand. She squeezed. He squeezed back.

Then whatever peace they had found with themselves, with each other, shattered.

“Do you know what’s happening with my father? What his punishment will be? I don’t . . . Nathalie won’t tell me. And I can’t bring myself to actually look it up.”

“No. I’ve kind of been avoiding that news,” Marinette admitted.

_Oh_ , Adrien mouthed. He looked at her, looked away. Opened his mouth. Closed it. She could see his brain working, considering the best words for his question.

“What?” she prompted.

“He killed me didn’t he?”

Time slowed, froze. Everything froze. The sound coming in from outside fell away. Her breath stuck in her throat. Her heart stuttered, stopped, reset. Blood pounded in her ears, a defining drumbeat.

She was ready for the honesty, ready to talk about everything. Full transparency. No more secrets, no more lying. The topic of the conversation may not be pleasant but being able to talk like this was. There were no walls between them anymore. It was refreshing no longer having to watch their words, to change names and skirt around problems. It was a weight lifted off her shoulders. It was freeing. And knowing who Adrien was, knowing that her two best friends were one person, was one of the greatest feelings ever. Even if knowing had come at a terrible price.

But she wasn’t ready. She would never be ready. Not for this question

And she had been doing so well too, keeping herself here, in the now, not letting her mind pull her back there even while in his presence. But all good things must come to an end as they say.

His blood dripping from the rapier. A choked breath.

_Stop_.

Red staining her hands as she tried uselessly to stop the flow.

_Breathe._

The sword in his chest.

His father.

_Don’t look._

Her face gave it away. Or maybe it was the absence of an answer. Just a strained breath, like her lungs were collapsing. Wide eyes staring, terrified. Reliving a nightmare over and over. However it happened, Adrien got his answer. He nodded sagely, an apology written on his face. What did he have to be sorry for?

“Before, after the fight, it was like there was this hole in my memory,” he explained. Her grip on his hand tightened. “Then the other day I closed my eyes and . . . I could see it. I could _feel_ it.” His free hand rose to his chest, fingers running over the cloth covered skin. “And earlier, you came in and you looked like you were about to pass out. You kept glancing at my chest. Every time you did you got a little more pale.”

“I tried not to,” Marinette muttered. She leaned her head on his shoulder, breathing him in. He smelled clean, freshly washed. This close, she could see that the roots of his hair were still wet, darker than the rest of the halo on his head. It was proof that he was here, _alive_. They both were. That was all that mattered right now.

“I’m sorry you had to watch it.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” She should really think about what she says.

He tensed.

“Marinette.”

“Let’s not talk about it,” she begged. “Please.”

“Okay.” He moved. She felt something press against her hair, felt his lips move as he spoke. “We won’t.”

They would have to eventually, but for now they could avoid it. There would be plenty of time later. His lips remained pressed to her head, and Marinette took the break in conversation to calm her racing mind. Silence reigned again, and the sounds of Paris returned. Adrien’s shoulders moved with every breath he took.

Marinette was about to call the kwamis back—she wanted to introduce Adrien and Tikki—when he said, “What are they saying about him at school? My father?”

She pushed herself back, a frowning knitting her brow. “I don’t know. I haven’t really been listening. I was a bit preoccupied with other things.”

Adrien didn’t say anything. He’d turned his head away from her, but she could hear the hitch in his breathing as he tried to stay composed. As he tried to keep himself together.

That wasn’t allowed anymore. He wasn’t allowed to hide himself from her. They were partner. Anything he was dealing with, she was dealing with too.

“Adrien.”

He looked at her. His eyes shone with unshed tears.

“I don’t know why I still care. I don’t know why I feel like this.” A shaky inhale.

She saw what was happening then. She watched as he began to lock his emotions away, as he tried to pretend he didn’t care about his father. About this man who had done horrible things in the name of family. She had seen him do this before, as Chat and Adrien. Just turn off his emotions. It was the worst thing to watch. His face became blank, his voice flat. He spoke formally, kept his opinions and feelings to himself. He became a completely different person, one Marinette didn’t like. As Ladybug and as Marinette, she’d always tried to show him that he didn’t have to shut down like that. He didn’t have to pretend with her. It was okay not to be okay. It was okay to act human. Because they may have been heroes, but they were also people. Everyone always seemed to forget that.

He always seemed to forget that.

Marinette grabbed him, pulled him to her. Wrapped her arms around his torso and rested her chin on his shoulder. He didn’t respond at first. His entire body was stiff, muscles tensed as if prepared for an attack. Then, slowly, his arms came around her. He pulled her ever closer, buried his face in her neck.

“It’s okay to love him,” she murmured. “Whatever else he is, he’s also your father. You’re allowed to feel like this. No one will fault you for it. No one will think any less of you.”

She meant all of it. Marinette hated Gabriel Agreste, and she always would. What that man had done to his son—to everyone, but to Adrien most of all—was disgusting. It was unforgivable. But she had spent the day trying to see things from Adrien’s side. This was his father, his last family member. The only family member he’d had since he was thirteen. Of course he would deflate like this. Of course he would shut out the world. And she couldn’t blame him. She wouldn’t blame him. His feelings were valid, and she understood that now.

The dam broke. He shuddered in her arms, once, twice. Something warm touched her neck. He clung to her like she was his lifeline. Like she was a lifeboat and he a drowning man. And she returned the grip. She held him as he fell apart, whispering soft words in his ear. Her Chaton, her partner, her best friend. This beautiful, broken boy who could only ever be himself behind a mask. This beautiful, broken boy who had lost so much. This boy who refused to be like his father.

This boy she loved.

She held him as he fell apart, as her own heart broke.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

  

_Congratulations. You have survived the war. Now live with the trauma._

_-_ Lori Jenessa Nelson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That quote at the end was kind of my prompt. I wanted to explore what they might be feeling after the dust has settled and the good guys have won. That being said, this is likely not the end of the Not Like This story. I'm considering adding more, probably just some companion one-shots, and turning it into a kind of rode to recovery. Obviously one talk is not going to fix everything that's wrong with these two kiddos. If y'all have any suggestions or things you'd maybe like to see, feel free to leave them in the comments.


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